


Prick and a Haircut

by pauraque



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood, Blood Elves, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Goblins, Haircuts, Needles, Orcs, Orgrimmar, Piercings, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say elves are vain, but that's not why Zindra keeps coming back to the Orgrimmar barber shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prick and a Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> Written to simultaneously fill the piercings/needleplay and bloodplay squares in the 2013 round of [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org).

Zindra strolls into the barbershop with her hands oh so casually in her pockets and her heart hammering in her chest. She catches Bebri's gaze in the mirror — the goblin is up on her stool, working on the customer in the chair, a heavyset, dour-faced orc. When their eyes meet in reflection, a slow smile curls across Bebri's lips.

"Well well, if it isn't my best customer," she says in her rough smoker's purr, swabbing the orc's ear with antiseptic. "You need a trim again already?"

"I, uh..." Zindra's breath catches in her throat as Bebri draws the long needle carefully from the piercing kit. It glints silver in the afternoon light through the open door, and Zindra's stomach squirms itself into knots. "I think I'm tired of having it long," she manages, flushing in embarrassment at the breathless sound of her own voice.

Bebri lets out a gravelly chuckle as she pulls the orc's ear taut, deftly pressing it against the cork. "All right, sweetheart," she says. "Just have a seat, and I'll be with you as soon as I'm done with Scout Backhand here."

"Stronghand," the orc corrects her in a grumble.

"Whatever. Grit your teeth, honey."

The orc sneers into the mirror. "I do not need a goblin _female_ to tell me how to bear — _argh!_ "

Zindra sits down hard in the empty barber's chair, unable to take her eyes off the needle that Bebri is now pushing through the flesh of the orc's earlobe, burying it deep into the cork. The elf's toes are curled hard in delicious horror as she watches him, his face carefully impassive but his hands grasping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are turning pale.

"All right now, the easy part's over," Bebri says cheerily, throwing Zindra a sly wink. "Hold still!"

Zindra's head is swimming, and she has to consciously remind herself to breathe. She can see the hard tension in the orc's muscular arms as Bebri brandishes the golden earring, like a party conjurer showing the audience that there's nothing up her sleeve. Bebri draws the piercing needle all the way through with a practiced hand, and threads the ring in after it. The orc sucks in a noisy breath through his teeth, but does not flinch.

Zindra feels like she is falling from a mountaintop, twisting in the wind as the orc's dark blood falls like teardrops onto the cloth upon his shoulder. Bebri wipes it away all too quickly, and presses the cloth to his ear.

"Okay, you hold that there for just a few minutes, and you'll be all done!" Bebri pats him on the back like a child. He grimaces, though in pain or indignity it is impossible to say.

"Now, as for you..." Bebri grins as she hops down from her stool and slides it easily over to Zindra's chair. She throws the smock over her, and Zindra feels the breezy tickle of the light fabric settling onto her arms, and the brush of Bebri's fingers as she knots it behind her neck. "You said you're tired of the length? I just grew it out for ya last week, girl!" Chuckling, Bebri gives her a playful slap on the arm that sends shivers up Zindra's spine. "You elves got us all beat for vanity, that's for sure."

Zindra finds her mouth dry, and has to swallow a bit before she can answer. "Maybe if you bobbed it... It's been so hot this week."

"I bet," Bebri says, and something in her voice makes Zindra glance at her in the mirror. The goblin's face in the mirror is smiling — teasing? No, it couldn't be that.

As Bebri cuts her hair, Zindra secretly revels in the feeling of cold steel against the back of her neck, of Bebri turning her this way and that, treating her as a piece of art. But she can't stop thinking of the orc in the next chair, still holding the cloth against his bleeding ear. She can't stop wondering what type of pain it is — throbbing? Sharp?

The scissors snip-snap about her ears, and butterflies flutter in her stomach as she lets herself imagine what it would be like to have Bebri pierce her virgin skin — to make her not just an artwork, but a sculpture, chiseled and drilled.

"Lift your chin a little, honey," Bebri whispers in her ear, and Zindra does, baring her throat, gazing up and willing herself not to tremble at the seductive trace of smoke on the goblin's breath. No one can know that she has such thoughts. No one can know that when she's alone at night, she wants Bebri there beside her in bed, threading rings through her ears, her tongue, her nipples. What would it feel like to let someone hurt her there, to feel blood trickling down her breasts, onto her stomach...

Would it hurt too much? Would she cry? She sees girls all the time with rings and jewels sparkling in their ears, in their noses, seeming to taunt her. She is so jealous, and so afraid.

Bebri's fingers are threading through her shorn, damp hair, styling it this way and that. Zindra fears sometimes that it's obvious, that the goblin can read her all too easily. Who comes to get their hair done so often? Won't Bebri guess that it's just an excuse to be near her? Or does she see Zindra as just another customer — a profitable one, at that.

"What do you think?"

Zindra sees herself in the mirror, her pale skin rosy, eyes forest-dark. The woman she desires is putting the finishing touches on her hair, stroking it almost lovingly as they gaze at each other in reflection.

"It's perfect," Zindra says.


End file.
